


The Queen's Consort

by spiderlilies



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Eleanor and Max are 17 and 16 respectively, F/F, First Meetings, First Time, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-07
Updated: 2017-04-07
Packaged: 2018-10-16 02:39:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10562022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiderlilies/pseuds/spiderlilies
Summary: Max had heard the stories told by drunken sailors. Stories about the Queen of Thieves, about the woman born during the Rosario raids, about the trade boss of Nassau, but she never anticipated having Eleanor Guthrie in her bed.Or, Eleanor and Max's first meeting.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lovelorn78](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovelorn78/gifts).



> Half of this ended up being Idelle and Max's friendship. *lol* I absolutely loved this prompt though and there was so much more of their youth that I wanted to explore, but I ended up focusing on Max's pov during their initial meeting. Also, heads up, there's sex between two minors, though I do skip over the explicit bits. 
> 
> Enjoy~!

A light east breeze blew in through the sheer, pink curtains of the bedroom as Max eased off her mattress, taking care not to disturb Idelle from her drooling slumber. While quickly slipping into her thin robe, she stepped out onto their balcony where the morning sun warmly kissed her skin in greeting as her oversized garment slipped from her shoulder. She paid it no mind, however, seeing as her attention was drawn entirely elsewhere.

Anticipation buzzed through her fingertips as she curled her hands around the railing and searched the crowd below, where diligent workers were already transporting goods to and from ships and opportunistic merchants were already setting up their wares in the optimal lots for maximum profits.

For months now, Max had been among these early risers. She came out here once a week, at this time, as if it were a scheduled rendezvous, though she was the only one aware of the meeting, which went a long way in explaining why these encounters never resulted in anything more than a crossing of gazes lasting no more than a few seconds.

A glimpse of sandy blonde hair caught Max's eye, though she knew it would not yet be the woman she was waiting for, because Eleanor Guthrie did not pass through a crowd unassumingly. When she arrived, the crowd would quiet and part for her as if she were a queen, and, in a way, she was. "The Queen of Thieves" many called her. It was a title earned both through her birthright and her skills at managing goods and resources, finances, and the pirates she lived among.

Eleanor was seventeen and she was fearless. It was not a fearless birthed out of naïveté, as was the case with many wealthy English families who came to Nassau unaware of how arduous the journey across and ocean would be and, upon realizing that their destination was not the warm island paradise of their imaginings, hid in the interior, clinging to their bibles and needlepoints.

No, that was certainly not Eleanor.

Eleanor, though English born, had the blood of Nassau flowing through her veins. At the tavern, men told drunken tales of her being birthed from the blood-soaked streets of the Rosario raids, they recounted the violent death of her mother which she had witnessed at the tender age of ten, and they proclaimed her lineage was from a family of businessmen who were just as brutal and snake-like as any pirate from here to India. For these reasons and more, rather than out of naïveté, Max imagined that Eleanor walked boldly, head held high and eyes sharp, because she was intimately familiar with the inner workings of this world and, when faced with its darkest elements, she knew that she could not only survive, but conquer.

Nassau was a kingdom in which she reigned.

Max herself was only a year younger, but her status was hardly comparable to that. She was born the illegitimate daughter of a man who had never looked her in the eye, leaving the concept of a father to her imagination and the glimpses she stole of her pretty, white half-sister whom he doted on day and night. Max and Eleanor shared a commonality in that she, too, had a businessman for a father. Hers owned a plantation on Martinique where she was born and where her mother, as far as Max knew, was still alive, still a slave, and still toiling away under the blistering sun in his sugarcane fields. It was only due to her mother’s courageous efforts that Max was able to claw her way up from her slave-born status to her current standing as a whore-in-the-making, and she was grateful to have the privilege of earning a wage to pay for her meager lodgings, but there were times when she stood on this balcony and thought of what it would take to climb a little higher, thought of how many years she must put between her and her childhood before she could walk with her head held high enough to fearlessly meet the eyes of men just as Eleanor did.

Seldom, but more often than never, she wondered at what it would take to become a queen.

“Decided yet if you would rather fuck her or be her?” came Idelle’s drowsy voice from behind her.

Tearing her eyes away from the street was a feat, but, if Idelle was awake, it was growing late and it was likely that Eleanor had altered her plans for today and would not be passing by the brothel anytime soon. So, with only a sliver of disappointment, Max turned to her friend, who was sitting on the corner of the bed and, in an uncharacteristic manner, was already pulling on stockings and making herself presentable for serving tables down below.

“Can I not strive for both?” Max asked with an added laugh to prevent herself from sounding too wistful.

Idelle paused her dressing long enough to give Max a look that made it clear there was no point in concealing her feelings, which was more than enough to loosen Max’s inhibitions seeing as she had been dying to share her overly smitten thoughts.

“She is beautiful, isn’t she? Always wearing such practical clothing that would look dull on anyone else, but on her it seems to be a challenge against what the world expects from a lady. I have even seen her wearing trousers on some days, which drives me absolutely mad for the rest of the week. And her hair, I have imagined twirling my fingers around the loose curls that frame her face so many times.”

“God, you sound like one of those poor bastards who’s convinced he’s going to marry a whore here,” Idelle jested with an amused shake of her head. “Honestly, most of the time her hair looks like she put it up in under a minute,” she added as she moved to the vanity table and began to brush her own hair rather haphazardly.

To save Idelle from going bald due to her aggressive strokes, Max slipped up behind her and took the brush so that she could begin the task gently from the tips. Idelle hummed all too happily as Max worked through the knots.

“Now tell me, what has you so eager for work this morning?”

Idelle tilted her head back against Max’s stomach to look up at her with the grin she sported when trying to hold back great news.

“Are you going to ask Mister Noonan to increase your cut again?”

Idelle’s grin immediately morphed into a grimace in response. “That man’s practically a slave driver. I gave up requesting an increase in favor of slipping a few silvers under the mattress before he collects,” she said proudly.

Max pushed Idelle’s head forward again, with slightly more force than necessary, as a gentle reprimand for taking risky measures. Noonan was diligent when it came to money and it had not been a pretty sight the last time a girl had tried to skim coin from him. Max doubted that she would ever have the courage to cheat her employers out of money, no matter how badly she wished for a greater income.

“In any case,” Idelle continued, “I would never bother getting out of bed for him. I’m preparing to be moral support for you. Now, give me the brush so I can fix you up.”

Idelle held out her hand pointedly and Max handed over the brush despite being more than a little confused as to Idelle’s motives. They quickly switched places, with Max now staring at her reflection and an impressive bedhead, while Idelle rummaged around in her pile of makeup until she uncovered a small, brass key. With a slow, dramatic gesture, Idelle slid the key into the lock on the vanity drawer, which Max couldn’t recall ever having seen opened.

“Take your pick,” Idelle said as she turned the key and pulled out the drawer, revealing a dazzling array of jeweled hair combs, elegant earrings, and other vibrant accessories. It was a display that was certainly outside of their means.

“Please tell me you didn’t steal these.”

“Always suspecting the worst of me,” Idelle tsked. “At least half of those are gifts from my favorite clients.”

“From pirates. Meaning they’re stolen,” Max pointed out, though that could have been said about the majority of coins that passed through their purses as well. “And the other half?”

Idelle shrugged. Stolen no doubt.

Nonetheless, trusting Idelle with whatever she had planned, Max slipped on a simple silver bracelet and picked a hair pin that was decorated with bright green gems. Humming approvingly at Max’s choice, Idelle set about styling her hair, which drew several winces and stifled whines of pain from Max, before she prompted Idelle on what she had meant by moral support.

“Right. So, while you were waiting out on the balcony like a maiden in her tower, I was being responsible and seeing if we were needed on the floor, when, who do I spot at the bar?” She paused, catching Max’s curious eyes in the mirror. “A certain messy-haired blonde downing shots.”

“No,” Max whispered in disbelief, while at the same time feeling excitement bubbling up at the mere thought of her and Eleanor being in the same building.

“Oh, yes. Now, I can’t imagine that your Little Miss Guthrie, who owns the deed to the tavern, would bother coming all the way to the brothel just for our shitty, overpriced drinks.”

The suggestion was all too tantalizing. As smitten as she was with Eleanor, her fantasies had always been just that—fantasies. She had certainly never gone as far as to consider that Eleanor might actually enjoy the company of the fairer sex, especially when she knew Eleanor to be in a tumultuous relationship with Charles Vane—a lumberjack of a man, with a voice as deep as the sea and ideals which were about as brutish and masculine as one could find.

Idelle slid the hair pin into place and nodded approvingly at the half-up bun she had successfully created. “I know Madam Mapleton has been pushing for you to move from serving tables to serving men, and this is the perfect opportunity for you to get her off your back while finally getting those trousers off Guthrie.” Idelle pushed the kohl eyeliner towards her, which she had often said was Max’s most striking look.

Then, there was a solitary knock at the bedroom door as it was almost simultaneously pushed opened and, speak of the devil, Madam Mapleton entered.

Without a greeting, she addressed Max. “Having the ear of the most powerful figure in Nassau would do us a lot of good here and I am taking a risk by not sending one of my more experienced girls to Miss Guthrie right now, but given your proclivities and gentleness, I am expecting you to be able to handle this. Will you?”

“Of course Max can handle this,” Idelle said before Max could so much as nod her head. “I’ve been teaching her for months. She’s almost as good as me. Last night she did this thing with her tongue—”

“I am asking Max if she can handle this,” Mapleton said, cutting off Idelle with a hand motion.

“I can handle this,” Max quickly confirmed, although her internal dialogue was a mess of _I can’t handle this_.

“Good. Don’t make her wait,” Mapleton said curtly and left the room, leaving the door wide open.

Idelle was animated once again, going on about how she would be cheering Max on from the sidelines and how they should try to charge double since Eleanor could afford it, but most of her chatter was muffled background noise. In the foreground were Max’s jumbled thoughts of excitement at getting to speak with Eleanor and anxiety over all the ways she could fuck this up. However, all that began to fade away as she set her gaze upon her reflection, took the kohl stick between her forefinger and thumb, and dragged the powder across her lower lid, leaving a thick black trail on her golden-bronze skin. As she traced her eyes, they transformed from those of a fawn to those of a leopard.

This ritual was one Idelle had suggested. She said many of the girls used the blushes and shadows as a mask of sorts, as if slipping on a character and allowing someone else to drown in carnal pleasures for a night. Before each of her training sessions with Idelle, Max would take the time to don her own. The familiarity of the ritual calmed her, certainly, but when she put down the stick and looked at herself in the mirror one last time, it was not someone else she saw reflected there. Instead, she saw a part of herself that had been buried by the dirt of the fields and years of labor. This was the part of herself that could perhaps, one day, meet an angry face and stare it down without flinching.

Idelle came up behind her again and the cool metal of a silver necklace rested against her chest as Idelle clasped it at her nape. “Before you go, I should tell you that Guthrie has ended things with Vane. Apparently, after his usefulness ran dry, she tossed him to the side. And I hate to dampen your mood, but, in all seriousness, try not to get as swept up in her as he did.”

Max wanted to defend Eleanor, as it was easy to see that she was not so callous as that. Had Eleanor’s plan been to heartlessly use Vane to incite a mutiny against the notorious Captain Teach, therefore securing her station as the Queen, it would not have ended with her drowning her sorrows in the bottom of a bottle while fucking a stranger. However, Max could also see just how clever Eleanor was, and how she must have known that Vane was the one man Teach would have never suspected of betrayal, therefore the perfect man for her to choose.

“Do not worry,” Max said as she stood. She tied her robe securely closed at her waist and then gave Idelle an assured smile. “If Eleanor did knowingly destroy Charles Vane, it was only because he was a means to elevate her. She has nothing to gain from destroying a whore, while I have very little to lose and much to gain by charging her double.”

Together, Idelle and Max left their room and descended the faded blue stairs to the floor below.

Though it appeared to be a moderately busy morning, with a number of men already holding a drink in one hand and a whore in the other, the ambiance was quieter than usual. One man, who was seated on the bench near the base of the stairs, was barely paying attention to the large-breasted woman whispering into his ear. A few other men were in a similar state. A few other whores were whispering to each other, not bothering to pay attention to the clients. All of them had their interest drawn to one point in the room and Max felt oddly proud to follow their gazes knowing exactly why the atmosphere in the brothel had been transformed today.

There, at the bar, just as Idelle had said, was Eleanor Guthrie.

Everyone in the room wanted to know why she was there, but no one dared to ask. Even the bartender kept silent as she immediately refilled the glass Eleanor had clinked down onto the counter. Surprisingly, Max herself began to move forward, feeling emboldened with each step by the knowledge that Madam Mapleton did not give anyone else permission to charm Eleanor. In this moment, Eleanor was hers and hers alone.

Max slipped onto the bar stool beside Eleanor and reached over the counter to take the entire bottle of rum from the bartender.

“So here you are,” Max said as she poured herself a shot. “I had wondered why you hadn’t passed by to visit the docks today.”

Finally, she faced Eleanor and saw her disheveled hair, her puffy, red-rimmed eyes, and tears that were held back by willpower alone. The devastated look of heartbreak there for all to see. Suddenly, it did not matter to Max what had happened between Eleanor and Vane, or what Eleanor’s motives had been. All that mattered was making Eleanor forget the pain, even if only for an hour.

Eleanor must not have anticipated being spoken to, because there was a momentary look of surprise on her face, but, as her eyes roamed Max’s features, the surprise changed into recognition, which only made Max’s confidence and determination soar.

“And I had wondered if you were a spy. Always watching me from above as you do,” Eleanor quipped, with a voice steadier than someone on the verge of tears would have been expected to have.

“If I were any good as a spy, I would have known the second you entered the brothel.” Max threw back her shot, and luckily held back her grimace at the god-awful taste. She put the glass down centimeters from where Eleanor held her own, causing their arms to brush ever so slightly. Warmth radiated from Eleanor’s skin. “Did I keep you waiting long?”

And there it was, a small smile from Eleanor for Max’s eyes only. Instantly, her heart stuttered.

“You make it sound like I was waiting here for you,” Eleanor said, now angling herself towards Max and leaning a touch closer.

“Weren’t you?” Max asked in a softer voice, one that drew Eleanor closer still. Max moved her hand then to the glass Eleanor held and traced the rim with two fingers, making the crystal sing. “Though if you’re only here for the rum...” she trailed off, drew her hand away, and pulled herself from Eleanor’s space entirely.

Just as Max had hoped, Eleanor sought her out by dropping her hand to Max’s bare knee, which she had let slip out from her robe. The direct contact of skin on skin had Max’s own body temperature spiking and she nearly had to bite her tongue to keep from smiling too widely, too eagerly.

“We could, of course,” Max continued, “bring the bottle up with us to my room.”

Taking the bottle, Max slipped off the bar stool and took two steps back from the bar before holding out her hand for Eleanor to take if she so chose. Eleanor turned in her stool and for a few excruciating seconds she traced the planes of Max’s body with her eyes, leaving behind the sensation of phantom touches. It was amazing, the power one could hold in their eyes alone. At the same time, however, Max could feel Eleanor’s caution. She knew it well herself. It wasn't always easy to determine whether an open hand was there to help or to strike.

When Eleanor finally reached out, Max almost felt as if she should bend down to kiss the back of her hand as one would a queen, but she resisted the urge and instead clasped their palms together as if sealing a deal.

As Max led them through the floor, she felt Eleanor’s status second hand in the way people stepped out of their path, in the way people watched them with a mix of reverence, fear, and disdain. Madam Mapleton stood near the brothel entrance, evaluating Max’s performance with a critical eye. Idelle was leaning over the back of a chair, massaging a burly man’s shoulders, but still gave Max the proud smile of a mentor to their pupil.

Ascending the stairs felt like entering a different world with Eleanor in tow and, when Eleanor was past the threshold of Max’s bedroom, she had almost convinced herself that this was all a dream and she would wake next to Idelle, step out onto the balcony, and watch Eleanor pass by the brothel without pause.

Instead, reality came back like the burst of fireworks when Eleanor, in one swift motion, closed the door and spun Max towards her, pulling their hands against the wood and forcing Max intimately into her space. Max would have let out a sound of surprise, but it caught in her throat when she stared up into Eleanor’s wide, uncertain eyes. It was as if the power had drained from them the moment the world was no longer watching.

For a moment, they simply breathed. With neither wearing a constricting corset, Max could feel Eleanor’s every inhale in the press of their bosoms.

“I’m not sure what I’m doing here,” Eleanor whispered, seeking an answer somewhere along the curve of Max’s lips.

So, with her lips, Max gave Eleanor the answer she sought.

The kiss was as gentle as possible, barely a brush of lips, the opposite of everything Eleanor had likely shared with that pirate. Max wanted to give her something soft, wanted to treat her like the queen she was. Their fingers slowly wove together as Eleanor relaxed into the touch, as their lips brushed again. Max feared she was giving her something delicate. Something The Queen of Thieves could break all too easily.

Luckily, the rational part of her mind came to rescue her, reminding her of who she was, and why she was here. She slipped her fingers away from Eleanor’s and, while distracting her with bottle of rum in her other hand, Max deftly untied the leather pouch from Eleanor’s belt. She let Eleanor take a hefty drink before she stepped back and, with a triumphant smile, dangled the pouch in front of her.

“It is fine that you do not know why you are here, because I do know. If you would like, I can make you forget about the world outside of these four walls for the remainder of the day.”

Setting the bottle of rum aside, she slipped her fingers into the pouch and hesitated only a moment before taking out double the standard fare. The coins were cool on her palm, but she was grateful for their weight. Money could be used as a buffer against emotions that would otherwise overwhelm a person.

“Does it please you?” she asked.

As soon as Eleanor nodded her assent, Max placed both the pouch and her pay on the dresser next to the rum and took Eleanor’s hands once again. She pulled them away from the dim back wall and towards the bed, which was bathed in sunlight. Eleanor went down on the bed easily, with hardly more than a nudge from Max. There, in the sunlight, Eleanor glowed.

Max undressed Eleanor at a leisurely pace, one article of clothing at a time, beginning with her boots. Max ran her hand under the arch of Eleanor’s foot, feeling how soft her skin was there—soft from always wearing proper shoes and never running around barefoot. She trailed her fingers around slim ankles and up Eleanor’s calf, pushing up the leg of her trousers as she went. She kissed Eleanor’s knee, where a light bruise was forming, though Max did not dwell long on why her queen would be forced to her knees.

When they were kissing again, with Max in Eleanor’s lap and their naked thighs pressing into each other, with Eleanor’s hands under Max’s robe and on her bare hips, with their hair loose and draping over their chests, Eleanor asked, “Your name? What’s your name?”

Into the shell of Eleanor’s ear, with a honeyed voice, she gave her name.

And when she was deep between Eleanor’s thighs, her name filled the room and she knew that, for the moment, she was the only occupant of Eleanor’s mind.

By the time the sun had reached its apex, Eleanor was sound asleep under Max’s sheets, looking far less like a queen and more like a young woman in terrible need of a moment of peace.

Max slipped on her robe for the second time this day and went to the dresser. There she divided the small pile of coins in half and returned one half to Eleanor’s coin purse, while daydreaming of not accepting payment at all.

Then, she stepped out onto her balcony, and closed her eyes against the noon sun with a smile on her face as she thought, perhaps, this could be a true place of rendezvous with Eleanor. Max would extend her hand and welcome Eleanor into her arms anytime she wished to shed The Queen of Thieves for a day.

In the end, Max did not truly covet the title of queen, but rather the security that it could bring, and, if one day she was so lucky as to be able to call herself the queen’s consort, well, then it did not matter who was seated in the throne and it did not matter if her kingdom was an entire island nation or a single bedroom, bathed in light.

**Author's Note:**

> Headcanon time, as Eleanor had her on-again-off-again relationship with Vane, she ended up in Max's bed many times before they officially started dating each other. (This could literally be an entire series on its own, classic sex worker/client fic and it's not even an au.)
> 
> As always, comments give me life, so let me know what you thought! <3


End file.
